


It Must Have Been the Wind

by Bridgr6



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Halloween-themed
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-17
Updated: 2020-10-27
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:47:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27055159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bridgr6/pseuds/Bridgr6
Summary: After the death of her brother, Daenerys Targaryen finds herself the primary owner of an old ancestral home. In a desperate attempt to rid herself of the place, she visits the property and tries to patch it up for sale. But somewhere along the way, she realizes that there are many mysteries to life, including her unexpected feelings for the mansion’s caretaker, Jorah Mormont.
Relationships: Jorah Mormont/Daenerys Targaryen
Comments: 26
Kudos: 38





	1. Chapter I

**Author's Note:**

> So, this somewhat Halloween-themed story is a product of a lot of procrastination (by yours truly), in which an idea blossomed from the Jorleesi Bingo Challenge and cowered in my WIP folder for a hot minute. I just couldn’t pull the final pieces together, until inspiration struck in the form of a strange interaction near an old stone tower (it’s not as weird as it sounds, I promise). I know I'm being a bit vague here, but it’s the season of mystery, so let's run with it!
> 
> Thanks for reading! I’ll be posting the next chapter sometime next week. <3

It seemed unfair to hate a place she’d never been before, but there Daenerys stood, staring up at the old ancestral mansion, and despising its very presence in her life. Sure, it was charming—in an ancient, mystic, possibly-haunted kind of way—but it had become a thorn in her side. No one wanted it, not even the distant money-grubbing relatives, so she was left to manage it.

If only Viserys had made good on his promises and sold the house years ago…

But unfortunately, like with many things, he’d left her to clean up the mess. That was her brother, always fleeing the scene before the consequences trickled in. In some ways, death was merely another one of his infamous disappearing acts.

After repeated phone calls from Mr. Selmy, the executor of the estate, she’d finally decided to put the old place up for sale, because, really, she wasn't emotionally attachment to it. Fine by her if it sold to another miserable family. Perhaps the next one would appreciate it more, maybe build some happy memories out of old ghosts.

But those were naïve thoughts, for although Mr. Selmy said the mansion would sell, _no problem, Miss. Targaryen_ , it’d been months and there wasn’t a single potential buyer. Not a one. Daenerys should be angry with Mr. Selmy for filling her head with false hope, but she can’t summon the strength for it, not when the man’s been her only support for years, false hope or not. As the family lawyer, he’s seen her through it all—her father’s death, her brother’s arrests, and now this, the dusting off of old Targaryen relics.

A few more months passed before she'd resigned to visiting the manor herself, once and for all, in hopes that with a little tender love and care she could make it suitable for a sale.

And really, it wasn’t awful to look at, she decided, taking in the structure beyond the winding driveway. A bit weather-worn, with vines climbing the faded brick walls and slanted chimney, but there was beauty buried beneath the rough exterior. It just needed a little…dusting off.

Her gaze stretched across the multi-gabled roof and down the conical towers, to the decorative spawn brackets that lined the wrap-around porch. Although the masonry was a bit eroded, and the bricks covered with efflorescence, the mansion stood tall and proud. _Built to withstand_ , Daenerys thought, her lips curving around the words with a soft smile.

On her way up the front steps, she brushed her hand across the lofty pillars, admiring the intricate details beneath her fingertips. Then, recalling Mr. Selmy’s instructions, she removed a wooden spindle from the top railing and found the house key nestled inside. It weighed heavy in her palm, forged in iron, and rusted near the handle. Although the key fit the lock, it took several attempts—and some colorful language—to get the tumblers to shift. Once the door was unlocked, she half-pried it open with her foot. Then shoved. Then used her full bodyweight. With a long groan, the door finally complied, swinging open on stuttering hinges.

As Daenerys stood framed in the entranceway, a cool breeze rushed by, tangling her long hair around her face, and billowing beneath the fabric of her clothes. Yet, in the next instant, it was gone, replaced by an eerie stillness that bordered on otherworldly. When she blinked again, and her eyes settled on the entrance hallway, a soft gasp escaped.

Although weather and nature had warped the exterior structure, the inside remained seemingly untouched, as if disconnected from the outside world entirely. There were no ugly marks on the floor or mildew stains on the walls—which were faded, yes, but in a natural wash of color. Even the dust seemed suspended in time, drifting between patches of light but never landing. Never stopping. Her hand lifted of its own accord, eager to shift the particles, if only to watch old memories escape. She could almost hear the caged bits of conversation, the loud laughter, the chiming music of parties held long ago…

It was enchanting in a way that went beyond sight alone. From within the mansion, the magic lived on, caught in a spell that had yet to be broken.

Suddenly, Daenerys felt like she was trespassing, intruding on some private moment…which was absurd, considering the room was empty, and had been for some time. The only sign of outside life filtered in as sunlight through the massive skylight overhead, escaping between the bars of steel outlining of her family’s sigil.

Another cool breeze blew in behind her, from where she had left the door open. This time it was accompanied by a voice.

“Excuse me—”

Daenerys whirled around, stumbling backwards at the sight of an unfamiliar figure in the doorway. The brightness outside outlined the person, making them impossible to identify. “Excuse me,” the voice repeated—a man’s voice. “This is private property. You shouldn’t be here.”

She blinked a few times, squinting at the man, who seemed as suspicious of her as she was of him. Eventually, she found her voice, “I’m Daenerys Targaryen…the inheritor of this estate.” Upon reciting her own title, she straightened a bit, defensive on instinct. If anyone was trespassing, it was him. This was her house, after all. 

“Oh,” the man formed the word comically, eyes widening beneath her glare. He stepped forward and tilted his head. After a moment, he blinked in astonishment. “Forgive me, Miss. Targaryen, I didn’t recognize you.” His gaze softened. “It’s been a long time.” When he closed the door, the backdrop of light faded enough for her to see his face more clearly, away from the play of shadows.

He was a handsome man; it was evident even from afar. Although his features were sharp, they softened with the warmth of his eyes, which mirrored the color of a summer sea and seemed just as calming. There was an ease to him that contradicted the earlier sternness of his voice. _More bark than bite_ , she thought, smothering a grin. Even his suit, albeit old and a bit out-of-fashion, was charming in its own way.

Yet, despite his first words hinting at crossed paths, she didn’t recognize him. Perhaps they’d met at her father’s funeral, or a family event at some point? Afraid of sounding rude, she asked the obvious question, “Do I know you?”

“No, no, we’ve never met,” he said, and then, as if to explain his earlier statement, added, “It’s been a long time since a Targaryen has visited here.” After another pause, he smiled and gestured to himself. “Jorah Mormont. I’m the—uh, caretaker.”

Her eyebrows lifted at that. Caretaker? It didn’t look like much care was being taken, not with the property in the state that it was. But even as the thought formed, she regretted it. How rude of her to criticize the man’s work when she’d all but left the place to ruin. Besides, it was unlikely they were paying him much, if anything at all.

She sighed quietly, allowing a polite smile. “I didn’t realize—Mr. Selmy never mentioned a caretaker.”

The man, _Mr. Mormont_ , huffed out a laugh. “I’m not surprised. Like I said, it’s been a long time.”

“I’m sorry,” she blurted, feeling guilty that he’d been left to watch over the house on his own. But he waved away her concern, stepping around her towards the main hallway.

“Are you here to visit, or…”

“No—well, yes,” she laughed, embarrassed. “Yes and no, I suppose. I’m here to sell the property.”

He paused for a moment, then nodded, giving no indication of whether he was pleased or displeased by the news. In general, he seemed a difficult man to read, beyond the outward friendliness. There was something about him…perhaps his formal accent, or the way he carried himself. She couldn’t tell what it was, exactly, but it caught her interest in a way few things did.

_Jorah Mormont_ , she tested the name in her mind, instantly liking the way it sounded.

“Well, I suppose you’ll want the grand tour, then?”

Daenerys jumped a bit as his voice pulled her attention again. She nodded her head with a smile. “That would be perfect.”

And so, Mr. Mormont, or rather, Jorah—as he insisted she call him—led the way through the long corridors of the manor, nodding to old artifacts, and sharing a vast knowledge of her family’s history, beyond anything she had heard previously. They moved methodically, from foyer to parlor; from parlor to dining room; from dining room to banquet hall, and so on.

Throughout the impromptu tour, Jorah glanced back periodically, as if checking to make sure she was still there. Each time he did so, she fought the urge to grin and instead found a new question to ask him, utterly charmed by his attention and intellect. 

Slowly but surely, they made it out onto the back porch, where the entire property stretched before them in a scene of rolling hills and towering trees, all clustered together to form a blended painting of autumn colors. Not far from the main house, stood a small cabin. She eyed it curiously before pointing it out. “Is that part of the property?”

Jorah followed her outstretched hand. “Ah, yes, the guesthouse. That’s where I stay.”

“Oh, it looks…” She didn’t want to sound rude, but the rustic shelter looked to be in worse condition than the manor itself. Even from afar, she could tell the foundation was cracked and the roof sinking.

_Lonely._

“Worn down?” Jorah finished for her, eyes glittering with enough amusement to alleviate any worry that she’d offended him. When his gaze shifted back to the cabin, there was a touch of weariness to his expression. “It’s been through the wringer, but somehow it still stands. No amount of rain, water, or fire has been able to tear it down.”

Daenerys frowned at his words, confused. “There was a fire?”

He nodded seriously. “Well over a century ago, now.” She waited for more, but he turned back to her with a forced smile. “A story for another time, I think. There’s plenty more of the house to see, and the next room is a personal favorite.”

And so, the rest of the afternoon was spent exploring the house, with Jorah leading the way. Daenerys discovered that his favorite room, the library, was also her favorite, as it boasted four full walls of hand-furnished bookshelves, each packed tightly with old leather-bound novels. The moment they entered the room, she had to crane her neck to admire all its features—the decorative chandelier, the rolling ladders, the spiral staircase leading up to a small walkway. Oh, and the smell…that earthy scent of broken-down glue brought an easy smile to her face. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught Jorah watching her with a soft look, evidently pleased by her reaction.

When night came, Jorah made a discreet exit, showing her to the empty bedroom closest to the main door. At first, he’d been surprised when she told him she planned to stay on site.

“Is there some reason I shouldn’t?” she asked.

“No, of course not. You’re perfectly welcome to stay here,” he insisted, with that intense sincerity he seemed to radiate, “I just thought you might prefer one of the hotels in town.” His assumption wasn’t too far from the truth, given that initially, she _had_ planned to rent a room as far away as possible, not wanting to spend any more time than necessary in the big mansion.

But that was before she met Jorah and discovered the unexpected appeal of the place.

“Remember, I’m just a holler away,” he said, nodding his head at the window, to where the cabin was visible between the trees.

“That’s a long holler.”

Jorah smiled. “I’m a light sleeper.” Then, with the promise that he’d be around in the morning, he disappeared down the hallway, taking the warmth of the evening with him.

Daenerys stood alone in the center of the room for a long moment, listening as the air grew quiet. Too quiet. The kind of quiet that made everything seem loud. It didn’t take long for the creaks and groans of the old house to fill the void. They echoed down the long corridor outside her room, startling her every few minutes. Each time she heard a new sound, she froze, waited, and then let out a breath when nothing came of it.

“It’s just the foundation settling,” she whispered, laying down on her side to gaze out the nearby window. Her eyes drifted to the small cabin across the way, watching for a dance of light to indicate Jorah was still awake. But there was nothing except for the shadows cast by swaying trees and moonlight.

Still, Daenerys stayed like that until exhaustion crept in and blurred her vision. As her eyes slowly drifted shut, Jorah’s words echoed in her ears, like a haze of fog set to carry her into the land of dreams.

_“It’s been a long time.”_


	2. Chapter II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *waves* 
> 
> Let the record show this chapter is not meant to be an accurate portrayal of the real estate business or any public record resources. So, sincerest apologies to any real estate moguls or archivists out there lol.
> 
> As always, thanks for reading! <3

_“Did you think I wouldn’t find out?”_

_“Find out—?”_

_A hand grabbed hold of her arm. Fingernails bit into her skin. “Don’t play coy with me, girl. I had you figured out, even before your brother ran his mouth.”_

_She tried to pull herself free. “Let go, you’re hurting me—”_

_“Do you have any idea what you’ve done to this family? What your foolishness has cost us!?”_

_“I don’t care what others might think…and I—I don’t care what you think either!”_

_The hand retracted. “You’ll care soon enough.”_

Daenerys woke with a start, shivering beneath the weight of words that hissed in echoes across the room and bridged the gap between dream and reality. She pushed herself up and glanced around the half-lit space. Her head tipped back with a sigh, relieved to find herself safe and sound within the manor, but it took another moment for her to shake off the remnants of the dream.

It had felt more real than any dreams of the past. Too real. As if she herself had stood there in that dark forest—a place she didn’t recognize—frozen by emotions that weren’t her own, and yet were, if only for the grip they had on her heart. The man with her seemed familiar as well, as if he too were part of some distant reality, made up of pieces she could identify separately but not together. Between the shadowy trees, with only a fleeting glimpse of silver hair and dark eyes, she’d thought…

_No_ , she shook her head. _Just the workings of a tired mind._

Without pondering the matter further, Daenerys got ready for the day and exited the room quickly. Once in the hallway, she listened for any sound that might give cue to Jorah’s whereabouts. She had no idea what his morning ritual looked like, but the idea of a shared breakfast appealed to her. He might even know a good restaurant in town.

But after wandering through all the main corridors and familiar rooms, including the library, she huffed out a sigh of resignation; Jorah was nowhere to be found. Perhaps he was still asleep. In which case, she thought it best to stay away from the guesthouse. Although he seemed like a patient man, she wasn’t sure he would enjoy the invasion of privacy so early into their acquaintanceship.

Instead of waiting around, she decided to make an early venture into town, with the intent of meeting the local real estate mogul, Tyrion Lannister. Mr. Selmy had given her the name, and the assurance that if anyone could sell the manor, it was a Lannister. And she had no reason to doubt him; so far, things had turned out better than expected. If she went in with a positive attitude, surely good fortune would lean in her favor?

* * *

_Less than an hour later…_

“Am I great at what I do? Yes. Do I have the accolades to prove it? You bet your ass I do. But I’m not a miracle worker here, Miss. Targaryen.” Mr. Lannister explained, holding his arms out wide as he leaned back in his chair, tipping it onto its hind legs. He flipped through a folder on his desk, glancing up at her with increasing disdain. “Your place needs an entire revamp. I’m talking full gutting, extensive exterior repair, the works. Even then, it’s going to have to pass inspection. At the very least, with a small miracle, you’re looking at a ten-month project. And that’s being generous,” he smiled coyly, before adding, “Which I always am.”

“Mr. Lannister—”

“Tyrion, please.”

She sighed. “Tyrion, I don’t have ten months. Is there any way to—I don’t know, expedite the process?”

“What’s the rush? By the looks of it, the manor’s been collecting dust for some time…what’s a few more months?”

She leaned back with a frown and folded her arms across her chest. “Not that it’s any of your business, but I’m trying to move on with my life. That means getting rid of the old family baggage…brick by brick.”

“Running from the past, are we?” Tyrion’s expression softened with something akin to sympathy, perhaps even understanding. Whatever it was, it forced him into a moment of contemplative silence—his first of the entire week, no doubt. After a conflicted groan, he dropped his feet from his desk and swung forward to face her. “Look, Daenerys, you’ve got an ancient manor on your hands. To some, that’s as good as gold, especially if there’s something fascinating lurking beneath those peeling walls. If you want to sell that place quick, without the huss and fuss of a full remodel, you’re going to have to find me some sex appeal.”

“Excuse me?”

“Real estate sex appeal…you know, myth! Mystery! Legend! Something that sparks attention and says, ‘I’m for sale, but I won’t come cheap’. Anything that makes the Targaryen ancestral home more than just a dusty old eyesore,” he shrugged, “No offense.”

Her eyes narrowed as she unfolded one arm to gesture at him. “Isn’t that your job? To draw in the buyers?”

“You asked for the expedited route. I’m merely presenting the option. Take it, or leave it,” Tyrion taunted with a grin.

“Fine,” she snapped, standing quickly. “I’ll take it.” Without another word she moved towards the door. Before she exited the office, she whirled around to point her finger at Tyrion. “Be ready to put your money where your mouth is, because when I come back with what you’ve asked for, I expect you to make a sale, _Mr. Lannister_.”

* * *

“Irritating man _,_ ” Daenerys grumbled to herself, as she walked through the front door of the manor, still fuming over the useless conversation with Tyrion.

“Not me, I hope.”

She turned to see Jorah walking down the hallway towards her. He smiled to show he was only teasing, and despite her frustrated state, she found herself returning the gesture, lips curving at the mere sight of a man who was practically a stranger.

“No, not you…Tyrion Lannister, the real estate _aficionado_ who was supposed to help me sell this place.”

Jorah grimaced. “I’m guessing the first meeting didn’t go well?”

Daenerys shook her head, feeling a weary sigh tug at her shoulders. “Apparently, it’s going to take some grand historical relevance to makes this place sellable. That, or a full remodel. Which I can’t afford, in time or money.”

He tipped his head to the side. “Historical relevance? I’m not sure I follow.”

“Tyrion says we need something that makes the manor special. Something that will make it sell quickly.” She laughed, throwing her hands up at the whole ridiculous idea. “Basically, proof that this place is either a historical site or haunted enough to be interesting.”

“That’s a…unique idea.”

“Yeah, well, he’s a unique man. And not in a good way,” Daenerys muttered. She closed her eyes and pressed a hand to her temple, trying to massage away a building headache. Tyrion’s entire idea was ridiculous—she wasn’t denying that—but it felt like her only option. If Viserys hadn’t drained their bank accounts before his death, she could’ve attempted a remodel. Hell, she could’ve bulldozed the entire place and rebuilt it from the ground up. But unfortunately, her cash flow was low, as was her patience. She had no intention of waiting ten months for a sale.

After a deep inhale, she straightened and dropped her hand, looking up at Jorah for assurance. He seemed rational enough…surely, he would let her know if she had gone completely bonkers. “Do you think it is at all possible?”

Jorah fell silent. From the press of his mouth and the nervous scratch of his chin, she could tell he was debating something. Perhaps he was searching for a way to break the hard truth without hurting her feelings. There was a long inhale and then, with a shake of his head, he said, “Well, I’ve never heard anything about this place being considered a historical site.”

“Surely, there are some old stories though?”

“Of course, but they’re just that—stories. Old wives’ tales told to keep the children away. They won’t attract anyone with real money. For that, you’ll need the facts, not some folklore. The library in town maintains detailed archives on most major historical events. Perhaps that would be of help?”

Daenerys nodded. It would be a good place to start…but she had a feeling that, like with all good secrets, the bearer kept theirs close. “What about the library here?”

“Mmm, well, I’ve browsed a good portion of it over the years, but I suppose it won’t hurt to have another look,” he agreed, then cleared his throat. “I can start here, if you want to search in town?”

“Sounds like a plan. We can meet up and compare notes tonight,” Daenerys grinned, grateful to have an ally in the hunt to uncover the supernatural, or more hopefully, just the historical. 

* * *

A bell above the door chimed.

“My goodness, Sam, someone’s here! Sam!” A female voice half-whispered, half-yelled from somewhere behind what appeared to be the library’s front desk. It was near impossible to tell, with all the books stacked in tall piles around the entranceway.

“Hello?” Daenerys called out, a bit timidly.

There was a small crash, a short scuffling sound, and then a dark-haired woman emerged from behind the desk, her eyes bright and welcoming. “Hi! Yes, hello. Welcome!” She blushed. “I’m sorry if I seem a bit excited, it’s just, you’re the first visitor we’ve had in weeks.”

“Oh.” Daenerys replied, a bit taken aback, and still distracted by the disheveled space around her. Her eyes flickered to the towers of books again, watching one lean to the side precariously. The woman followed Daenerys’ gaze and her cheeks flushed a deeper crimson.

“I apologize for the state of things. It’s not normally like this. You see, my husband, Sam, is the new head librarian, so we’re doing a bit of restructuring…and reorganizing,” she explained, releasing a quick, nervous laugh as she took in the chaos around them. “Lots to be done. Lots. Sam also works at the coroner’s office, so there’s a bit of back and forth, and with our boy, it’s—” She stopped herself short, looking embarrassed. “—a lot of oversharing.” Another smile, this time apologetic. She wiped her hand on the front of her flowery dress before extending it in introduction. “I’m Gilly, by the way.”

“Daenerys,” she replied, shaking the woman’s hand with a friendly smile of her own. “And no apology necessary. I know my way around a bit of clutter. In fact, it seems to be my forte these days.”

Gilly brightened, looking relieved. “Well, in that case, what can I help you with? We’re not doing check-outs just yet, but if there’s something specific you need, you’re welcome to stay here and browse for as long as you like.”

“I’m actually interested in the public records. Would it be possible to have a look at them?”

Gilly blinked in surprise. “Of course. They’re all the way in the back, behind the last shelf of historical fiction.” She turned and pointed in the right direction. “You’ll have to battle through some cobwebs, but everything should be up to date.”

Daenerys thanked her and made her way down the long corridor, pausing every few steps to admire the various paintings mounted on the walls and the delicate chandeliers swaying overhead. She noticed a second floor to the building, hidden behind a stone balustrade that ran parallel to the main hallway. The library seemed to go on further and forever, with its stone floor enhancing the illusion through a myriad of reflections. She focused her eyes on the bronze-plated markings along the shelves, searching for the section in question. Just as Gilly said, the public records sat beneath the far wall, lit by a large glass window that turned sunlight blue. Several wooden structures sat like massive filing cabinets in a row, each organized by subject or name, all labeled as city record. Daenerys brushed her fingers across the labels, searching for something of interest. Really, she didn’t know what she was looking for, but hoped some sort of gut feeling would lead her in the right direction.

After an hour of skimming through old business records and administrative policies, she closed the drawer with a sigh. It was only the first cabinet, but as her eyes fell on the other labels—marriage licenses, court records, government financial records—hope dwindled. It all seemed rather…boring. Dull. Nothing like what she needed. But the desperate desire to be done with it, with all of it, urged her on, despite her growing impatience.

* * *

When she returned to the manor several hours later, after riffling through dozens of useless files, she moved through the corridors in search of Jorah. As she walked past her room and a series of closed doors, she heard a soft crash.

“Jorah?” she called out, turning around to face the closest door.

No response.

Escaping from the crack beneath the door, a light breeze brushed against her ankles. Daenerys frowned, _had Jorah left a window open?_ Without thinking, she grabbed the handle and slowly pulled the door open, risking one final glance down the corridor.

Sure enough, although no one was inside the small room, the window was wide open. _Strange_ , she thought, moving across the room to close it, before it stole the warmth from the entire house. As she did so, another autumn breeze rushed through the gap between wood and glass, pushing against the door behind her until it slammed shut. A shriek escaped from her lips, and then faded, as her heart lodged in her throat. Another slam. The creak of wood. A stack of papers flew from the wooden desk set against the back wall, flapping around wildly before floating to the floor.

_It’s just the wind_ , she breathed, attempting to settle her nerves. There had been too many loud noises, too close together, and her chest felt tight with anxiety. In quick remedy, she pressed her palms against the lip of the window and closed it. The room fell silent again.

With wary eyes, Daenerys bent to scoop up the strewn papers, gathering them as carefully as possible. Her fingers cradled them as if they were delicate leaves ready to crumble beneath her touch. Each piece of parchment was covered in fine writing and looked to be old…really old, with torn edges and worn creases serving as evidence of their long-forgotten state. Light filtered right through the yellowed pages, as if they were made of nothing but tinted glass. 

Something about the state of the papers, and the way in which she had discovered them, warned her not to look further. It was that returning sense of intrusion. _Let sleeping dogs lie._ But even as the nagging thought entered her mind, it was too late; her eyes were already skimming the first line of ink-laced handwriting.

_September 15 th, 1892_

_Father,_

_I am in dire need of money. The servants demand payment and my pockets are empty. I have little sympathy for them, as you know, but your daughter listens to their cries and whines endlessly about the injustice of it all. It has caused me great stress, and as head of the estate, I do not see why I must be kept like a beggar in matters of finance._

_Respectfully,_

_Your Son_

They were letters, Daenerys realized, as she looked over the first piece of parchment again. Old family correspondence. A small glimpse into her ancestral past. Unpleasant though it was, not even the author’s harsh tone could stop her from shuffling to the next one…

_January 24 th, 1893_

_Father,_

_We must speak in person. I have been made aware of scandalous events that, without action, I fear will leave an indelible mark upon our family name. I think it best you visit the manor at once, so that we may discuss the matter in full. Know that I have kept vigilant in your stead._

_Respectfully,_

_Your Son_

As Daenerys turned over the third and final letter, her hands shook unexpectantly.

_May 8 th, 1893_

_Father,_

_I have done as you asked, once again, without argument, and yet you have spoken little of our earlier agreement. Should you refuse to name me heir, as you silence alludes, I will have no choice but to pursue a different and, no doubt, harsher course of action._

_Remember the secrets you have burdened me with, lest they come back to burn us all._

_V_

The last one was signed different—V?

Daenerys had no way of knowing what the contents of the letters meant, or who wrote them, but even without context, the words didn’t sit well with her. The parchment rippled with secrets dark and dangerous. She wanted history, she wanted intrigue, but did she want to uncover unpleasant parts of her family’s past?

_How much lower could the family mantle possibly sink?_

“Are you alright?”

At the sound of another voice, Daenerys jumped, inhaling sharply in surprise. “Gods, Jorah, you scared me,” she sighed, pressing a hand to her chest as she recognized his steady form in the doorway.

“Didn’t mean to startle you. I just thought I heard a scream,” he replied, abashed.

Warmth crept up Daenerys’ neck and she ducked her eyes to hide the sudden blush that accompanied it. “That was me…I just got a little spooked by the wind, is all.”

Sensing her embarrassment, Jorah didn’t question her further. Instead, he nodded to the letters in her hands. “What are those?”

She turned the papers over, holding them up for him to read. The air shifted as he stepped closer, settling beside her to peer over her shoulder. As he scanned the letters, Daenerys craned her neck to study him more closely. In the dim lighting, the lines of his face were more evident but also more delicate. Softer. The creases around his eyes dipped and curved in ways that spoke of more sadness than joy. There were stories there, written across his face with permanence. Perhaps secrets, too. If she reached out now, she could almost—

“The author certainly has his charms,” Jorah scoffed, upon finishing his reading. Still close enough for her to touch, his lips curled into a soft smile and his eyes danced with mirth. He had caught her staring.

“I don’t think they were ever sent,” she blurted, then cleared her throat. “The letters, I mean.”

“Or they were returned after receipt.”

She glanced down at the papers again, bending the corners slightly. “Do you have any idea who wrote these? Or what any of it means?”

“No, but I don’t like it. This doesn’t strike me as the kind of fun and harmless legend you can present to potential customers,” Jorah said, shaking his head in disapproval.

“Maybe not, but it could lead to something else, something better.”

He stepped away from her, swiping a hand across his mouth distractedly. When he turned to face her again, his expression was serious. “If you dig deeper, you might not like what you find, Daenerys. Take it from me…some things are best left in the past.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A lot of mystery in this chapter, I know. But things will piece together next chapter and hopefully start to make sense :)


End file.
